Fated Paths
by DarkObsessions
Summary: SPOILERS! This is a pre-series fic taking place eight years prior to the show & setting the stage for the events of the series. Max drags Eleanor to see a soothsayer who claims Eleanor will be the death of Vane. Despite her disbelief in such things, Eleanor is inexplicably bothered by her role in the seer's predictions and starts making moves to prove it's falsehood.


**DISCLAIMER** : I don't own Black Sails. It is not my intellectual property. There is no financial gain made from this nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only.

 **Nassau - 1707**

How had she ever allowed Max to talk her into this? Being dragged from shop to shop was irksome enough on it's own, but this was too much. This was a complete waste of time, not to mention coin.

Mrs. Mapleton had demanded Max acquire a few new skirts, and Eleanor had foolishly agreed to accompany her friend to procure them. She had assumed such an outing would be a brief and perhaps welcome respite from her seemingly endless work at the tavern.

She had been wrong.

After hours of traipsing through shops, Eleanor had somehow been wrangled into sitting before a wizened up old woman claiming to be some kind of seer. A soothsayer, Max had called her. The old bat hardly looked able to report what she'd had for lunch, let alone profess the future.

She was small and frail and wore what could generously be called a frock, but more closely resembled a tattered bed sheet. Her skin was withered and dark from years of sun and her eyes clouded with what Eleanor could only assume were cataracts. She sat behind a small round table in the street among the many shops and vendors. But unlike the other merchants, she did not call out or draw attention to her business. Instead, she sat quietly behind the table staring ahead and rubbing a small piece of material between her fingers. Were it not for the small sign listing her service and price, one would likely miss her entirely.

Hardly a sound marketing strategy.

In any case, such games were for children and fools. Eleanor was quite certain she was neither, and had no qualms with voicing as much. "This is silly, Max..."

Max smiled and clapped a hand down on Eleanor's shoulder. "Of course it is, that's why it's fun. Now give the lady some coin and be done with it." There was a slightly patronizing lilt to Max's tone that

suggested she might not believe her own words, but understood that such misstatement would appease the skeptic in Eleanor.

Eleanor sighed. "Very well. Have at it then..."

The woman reached forward and laid her gnarled hand palm-up in the middle of the table. When Eleanor simply stared from the woman's face to her palm, Max nudged her friend's shoulder and quietly demanded, "Take her hand."

With a gentle roll of her eyes, Eleanor complied. The moment their hands met the woman's throaty voice joined with the noise of the marketplace. "You've a penchant for power..."

Unimpressed, Eleanor huffed out an impatient breath. "Who doesn't?"

The woman continued as if she hadn't been interrupted. "A deep seeded ambition towards autonomy, the guileful surpassing womanly confines..." She inclined her head, staring off into the crowded market as if studying something no one else could see. "You will achieve much, far more than many thought possible... But the world you'll seek to create cannot come to pass. It will crumble with the desperation of your efforts."

Eleanor shifted, her eyes narrowed. "A bold assumption from a woman I've never met. I seek nothing more than what I am owed. And I've no intention of forging new worlds, only of taming a small portion of this one."

The old woman's cracked lips twitched to reveal the faintest of smiles. "As you've tamed the man?"

Eleanor's brow knit. She tried to pull her hand free of the woman's, but the woman used her free hand to clasp over their two joined ones. Those clouded, unseeing eyes seemed to burn through Eleanor, leaving her with a distinct sense of unease.

The woman's grip tightened. "His fervor for you is... impressive. It consumes him. He will move mountains to defend you, to save you from yourself. But your ambition will be your undoing. You will be his Judas, his condemnation... His loss will destroy you, and it will all be for nothing"

"That's enough." Eleanor snapped, yanking her hand free of the woman's. Her voice was tense but remained even and low as not to attract attention or reveal her agitation. It was a conscious effort not to rub the hand that had been trapped in the woman's. "I've heard enough of this nonsense. You know nothing of me or mine." Tossing two pieces of eight onto the tabletop, she stood and smoothed out her skirts. The familiar mundanity of the action gave her a moment to better compose herself. "If you're going to continue taking coin for false prophesies and conjecture, you'd do better to fill the fool's heads with content of a more positive nature. People want promises of love and prosperity, not destruction and defeat."

The woman inclined her head, a frown marring her brow. "What people want is rarely what they require..." Her fixed gaze had returned to the crowd and her hands had gone back to rubbing that odd piece of material between her fingers. Though when she spoke again it was clear she was still speaking to Eleanor. "Tell me, is it the loss of the man or that world, that you fear most?"

Eleanor scoffed. "You're persistent, I'll give you that. But I fear nothing."

"A lie well sustained..." The woman croaked.

Knowing her friend's temper and sensing the situation may be giving rise to more tension than she'd ever intended, Max was quick to intervene. "Perhaps we should be on our way..."

For a moment Eleanor remained standing before the woman, an expression somewhere between irritation and worry etched in her features. But with Max's soft calling of her name, she straightened. "Of course. I've still much work to finish at the tavern."

With that, Eleanor turned on her heal and reached out to hook her arm through Max's. The two had taken only a step or two toward the tavern before the old woman called out. "You are the harbinger of your own future. Be wary that what you choose to bring is truly what you seek..."

There was a slight hitch in Eleanor's step with the old woman's words, but she recovered quickly and kept walking. Better to appear unfazed by such drivel than to admit any of it troubled her.

Far from oblivious to her friend's transience, Max cast a worried glance in Eleanor's direction. Perhaps this hadn't been such a good idea after all.

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Later that night, Eleanor stood beside the table in her quarters and poured herself a sizable cup of rum. She took a healthy gulp followed by a frown and the pursing of her lips. With another steady breath, she threw back the rest of it's contents and slapped the empty cup down on the tabletop. Her voice was calm and matter-of-fact when she spoke. "Max dragged me to a seer's today."

A quick bark of laughter rumbled from the chest of the pirate sitting before her. It was a rare sound to come from the infamous Charles Vane. One she'd reluctantly grown rather fond of.

An amused glint lingered in his eyes as leaned forward and snatched up her empty cup, refilling it and bringing it to his own lips. "Did she now?" He asked, tone intrigued.

"She did..." She shifted uncomfortably. "The old bat said things. It was... unnerving, to say the least."

"And? "

She shrugged, opting to attempt the same nonchalance that he so often exuded. "It was rubbish."

There was a brief but heavy silence as he eyed her with a curious sort of interest. "Then why are we talking about it?"

Again she shrugged.

He waited another beat before mirroring her gesticulation. "So be it. I'd rather we were naked anyway."

Suddenly, with a lecherous and somewhat endearing smirk, he reached out and made a grab for her waist, pulling her into his lap.

She rolled her eyes but lifted her arms to circle his neck. "Yes, I'm well aware of your preference."

"Well then, lets get on with it." With his words, his head lowered and his lips lit a line of fire across her throat.

She swallowed hard and tried to forget about the old woman's prognostication, choosing to concentrate instead on the activity at hand. Sex was often an attractive distraction from whatever arduous life event was troubling her. Normally his touch acted as a mutually beneficial method of wiping clean the discord of her mind.

Though if she was honest, she could inwardly confess that was not the sole reason she so often found herself in his company. Inexplicably, she often derived comfort in his simple presence. She had become accustomed to his consistent occupation of the space beside her, of his enduring affections, and of the constant challenge he presented her. She had come to care for him a great deal. Perhaps even above all others.

A fact that she would surely take to her grave before openly admitting.

But despite all this, tonight she couldn't seem to let his touch wash away the days events. She was genuinely bothered by the soothsayer's prediction and she couldn't understand why. Why should the equivocal babbles of some ancient street swindler bother her any?

She closed her eyes and reached up to tangle her hands in his hair, annoyed that her mind still refused to empty.

She hadn't intended to voice her disquiet. But before she could register her train of thought, the words had already tumbled out. "She said I would betray you. That I'd be your downfall, and destroy us both..."

His mouth stopped moving against the side of her throat as he went very still. Feeling his breath brush against the space between her neck and shoulder, she waited for him to respond.

She'd expected him to tell her it was nonsense, that her choices were her own and that she could do as she pleased. But the silence was deafening and she began to wish she'd kept her mouth shut. Surely he didn't place any real stock in the words of some storyteller.

She almost jumped when his voice rumbled out in that relaxed, gritty tone of his. "Nahh... She probably just said you're mad about me..." He shrugged but didn't pull away from her neck. "Quite frankly, I can't blame you. I'm a fucking catch."

With shock donning her features, she jerked back from him to study his face. His tone must have been just deadpan enough to confuse her, because she looked as though she were genuinely contemplating the seriousness of his flippant comment.

Slowly, her eyebrows rose. "Did you just–Was that a joke?"

He shook his head but there was a somewhat teasing and sarcastic drawl to his voice. The slightest hint of a smothered grin pulled at his mouth. "Don't think so, no."

"I think... My God, I think it was." She said. Disbelief streaked across her face before it broke into a wide grin. "The fearsome Charles Vane cracks jokes? I wouldn't have thought you capable."

His expression softened with the look on her face, but his voice was soft and neutral when he spoke. "Capable of plenty..." He said while gently brushing an errant lock of her hair behind her ear. Her hand lifted to rest upon the back of his as it cupped the side of her jaw. What she saw in his face was nothing short of devotion, a tenderness that went beyond simple affection. It both swayed and frightened her, as her sentiment towards him often did.

With a single intimate gesture, this man could speak volumes. What they shared might be bizarre and flawed, but it was real, worthwhile. It didn't matter what the seer had said, because no presage could change that.

Moved by his inferred sentiment, she leaned forward, closing the distance between them to brush her lips softly across his. "Show me..." she whispered.

It was often this way between them. He was not a man of many words, nor she a loquacious woman. Much of the sentiment expressed between them was left unspoken but clear. Neither had much use for eloquent speeches or sweet nothings. Such follies were merely a contrivance of the weak.

He shifted her from his lap, causing her to stand. She gave him a quizzical look as he stood, but allowed him to direct her as he reached around her and loosened her skirts. With a gentle tug, the garment slipped to the floor and pooled at her ankles, leaving her in only the corset. Stepping out from the material, she nudged it to the side with her foot and stepped into him.

After an appreciative once over, he took hold of her hips and guided her backward. When the back of her knees hit the chair in which he'd previously been, she was prompted to sit. She arched a brow. "What are yo-"

Her words cut short as he dropped to his knees before her, and slid his calloused palms up her calves to her knees to part her thighs. Then she understood. She knew this process well.

He smirked up at her as he caught the understanding in her eyes, and she scooted forward in the chair to give him a better angle. He lowered his face between her thighs.

It was in these moments that the world could slip away. In these moments that she could allow herself a brief respite from the chaos of her own mind, her ceaseless fight for sovereignty and recognition. Whatever unease the old woman's words had brought her, faded into the background as he moved against her. As she was certain was his original intention.

The world thrummed and beat to life with his ministrations. One of her hands reached back and braced against the back of her chair, while the other fisted in his hair. With skin slick and blood burning, her hips began to lift and twitch of their own volition. She felt him smirk against her a second before her body stiffened and the world imploded. Stars danced across her vision as he worked to make the crescendo last, wave after wave of crashing through her with fervor.

Finally riding out the last of it, she slumped against the chair, flushed with breath heaving. He rested his head atop her lap, running his hand up and down the outside of her thigh. They stayed like that for another moment or so before the gritty sound of his voice breached the silence. "That good, huh?"

The arrogant lilt of his tone did not go unnoticed. She snorted, almost grinned. "Shut up."

She stood abruptly, knocking him back on his ass. Before he'd time to protest, she'd dropped to straddle him, shoving him back so he was laying flat. The action had fire burning in his eyes, a hunger she knew all too well. His hands came up to grip her hips and she embellished a smug expression to match the one he'd worn only seconds earlier.

Now there was only craving in his face.

Without breaking eye contact, she reached down between them to slip open the fall front of his trousers. A second later she'd pulled him free and slammed herself down.

His grip tightened as she held his gaze, building up a swift and steady rhythm. Without breaking pace she reached up and began unclasping the hooks on the front of her corset, tossing it clear across the room as soon as the last clasp slipped free. He broke eye contact to admire the view and she took advantage, slipping her hand down between them in an effort to bring herself once more before he finished.

He hissed out a breath at the scene unfolding before him. "Witch..." He grunted.

Face flushed and lips parted, she grinned and echoed his earlier words. "That good?"

He couldn't help but laugh. Stubborn, competitive woman. Sitting up he took hold of her chin and captured her mouth with his, causing her rhythm to falter. His hips pistoned upwards and she broke away from his lips with a sharp intake of breath, her mouth forming that classic 'O' shape. He lowered his mouth to her throat, lighting new fire across her skin. Her fingers quickened pace between them, chasing that impending release. Feeling that familiar crest taking hold, she shoved him back down to the floor, her eyes clenching shut. She supported one hand against his chest while the other continued it's frenzied quest and her hips jerked against him.

"Look at me." He panted. His grip on her thighs was almost painful, mingling with with the pleasure to create an odd titillation. Her eyes snapped open and found his. Her haste quickened as she reached her peak, hips loosing cadency and jerking desperately.

He watched her finish, felt her reach that exquisite pinnacle and ride it out bereft restraint. It never failed, always shook him to the core to watch her. He was enamored, adrift in this termagant wisp of a woman. In that moment, he didn't care what the future held for them, only that she'd have him.

He was so close. "Eleanor..." He puffed.

She swallowed, tried to even out her breathing. "I know..." She panted and lifted her hips slightly, angling herself forward to allow him space to thrust up.

He complied. Immediately slamming upwards with frantic pace, their bodies slapped together with the impact. His eyes clamped shut and she tried to keep tempo with his movements, her clenching body willing him to finish.

His grip tightened as his body stiffened and she felt that familiar white hotness shoot through her. She quivered with the feel of him. Leaning back, she rocked her hips a few more times against him in an attempt to ride out the last of his rigidity before he softened. As he did, she allowed herself to collapse atop him and his arms came up to encircle her waist. They lay like that for some time, neither too concerned with the fact that they were laying on the bare floor.

Eventually, as her mind returned to the soothsayer's words, she rose silently to wander over to the bed. He watched her leave before stripping off the remainder of his clothes, dropping them where he stood, and trailing after her. Without bothering to wait for approval on the matter, he slipped into the bed behind her and pulled the back of her form snugly against his front. When she didn't ask him to go, his nose nestled in her hair.

The minutes ticked by and sleep eluded her. It was silly. What the old woman had told her was ambiguous, could have been applied to almost anyone who sat at that table. Many wanted power, and many had people who cared for them. Yet still, as ridiculous as it was, she couldn't shake the feeling that there might be some accuracy in the prediction.

Which was not something that sat well with her.

She wanted Nassau, wanted full control of her father's trading company. But she also wanted Charles. Edward Teach stood between two of those things. To expunge Teach would likely mean expunging Charles as well. Teach was like a father to him and Charles' first instinct would be to defend him. This predicament lent an uncomfortable amount of credence to the hag's words because to take Nassau, the logical course of action would be to cut her losses.

Turn on Teach and consequently loose Charles, maybe even get him killed.

But the thought of as much, left her chest tight. Would she risk something like that? Could she be capable of it? No. She didn't want to believe she could. Not with him.

The thought had her suddenly struck with an unfathomable urge to voice that belief. To assure him safe passage though events that had yet to occur. It was stupid, but the words slipped from her lips regardless. "I wouldn't, you know..." She said softly.

A gravelly and groggy "What?" sounded behind her.

"Turn on you... You're-" She struggled for a decently strung sentence that didn't make her sound like a love struck imbecile, came up with nothing, and settled for a curt "I just wouldn't.".

Seconds passed and she began to wonder if he'd fallen asleep. It might have been for the best if he did. It would save her the discomfort of coming off the superstitious twit she sounded like.

But then his voice sounded in the dark. "I believe you..."

Her chest ached with his words, with the simple trust to which he afforded her. Trust she wasn't sure she'd earned, nor easily granted him in return. And in that tender moment, she made a decision that would change their lives forever.

She would contrive to persuade Charles to the betrayal of Teach, sway him to side with her and force Teach from the island.

What she had with Charles was different. As wild and infuriating as it was amorous and intoxicating, it wasn't a love she would intentionally sabotage.

Of this, she was certain.

Having a sufficiently convinced herself of her loyalties and devised plan of action, she burrowed in closer to him, scenting the sand and sea on his skin.

She would not be his downfall or his death. She would be his ally. Prophecy be damned.


End file.
